


Be Mine

by Dormchi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drinking, Fighting, Flirting, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dormchi/pseuds/Dormchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some reason, he’s alright with Dean flirting with women. It’s his natural state, complimenting a busty brunette on her skimpy scrap of a dress and feeding her some story about being a talent agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Be Mine" by The Heavy.

For some reason, he’s alright with Dean flirting with women. It’s his natural state, complimenting a busty brunette on her skimpy scrap of a dress and feeding her some story about being a talent agent.  _Ever think about getting into the business? I could make a couple calls._  Sam sits two seats down the bar, chuckling into his drink as the woman  _oh’s_  and  _ah’s_ after every nearly every word that Dean says.

It’s almost a game to Sam at this point. When she suggests that they leave together, Sam will step in and wind his arm tightly around Dean’s shoulders. The girl will look at them, wide-eyed and embarrassed or just put out, and disappear. Sometimes they kiss to get the point across, because some people don’t understand until they’re smacked in the face with it.

The first time he’d stepped in to shoo away a pushy girl, Dean had looked at him kind of sideways.

“I’ve gotta keep up on my game, man. But you know who I’m goin’ home with,” Dean had said when they were back in the motel, laughing as he bowed his head to wrap his lips around Sam’s cock.

And Sam knows that this is a part of Dean that comes with the package. The flirting isn’t malicious or spiteful, it’s just  _Dean_.

He glances over at Dean and notices that the woman has disappeared into the crowd. When Dean looks back, he says, “Losing your touch?”

“You didn’t swoop in to cockblock, so I told her I was only interested in anal.” Dean grins cheekily and takes a swig of his beer. “Lemme tell ya, if that doesn’t scare a woman off, she’s a keeper.”

“You might want to mention the part where  _you’re_  the one being fucked,” Sam deadpans.

“True. Hey, remember me mentioning that weekend with Lisa?”

Sam’s face scrunches up in mock disgust, even though he’s kind of interested to hear more about that weekend with Lisa. He has a feeling that it involved Dean’s first experience with anal sex. “Nope, I’m good. Just finish your beer and let’s get out of here, while you’re not too drunk to get it up.”

“Man, that was a good weekend,” Dean sighs happily.

Sam opens his mouth to respond, but someone comes up behind Dean and taps him on the shoulder.

And well, this is new. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dean get hit on by a guy in a bar before.

“Hey,” the man says, resting his hand companionably on Dean’s shoulder. He’s tall, at least as tall as Dean, and looks like he just stepped out a magazine. The guy’s stupid fauxhawk, and his blue eyes, and his chiseled jaw, and his fucking fitted jeans, and his big hand resting on Dean’s shoulder—it all pisses Sam off.

From now on, bars in California are off limits, because there are guys that look like  _this_ , like they have nothing but free time to look hot.

“Yeah?” Dean replies nonchalantly, and Sam wonders briefly if Dean is going to brush him off right away.

“I’m Daniel,” the man says with a smile. “Let me buy you a drink.”

 _He’ll tell him off_ , Sam thinks as he downs the last of his whiskey.  _And then we’ll head back to the motel._

Only, Dean doesn’t tell Daniel off. Instead, he flashes his best smile, the one that shows the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and pats the seat on the other side of him. The one farthest away from Sam.

Sam feels the dull ache of jealousy in his chest, mixed with the leaden haze of whiskey and the warmth of arousal. Suddenly, the flirting game isn’t fun anymore, because either Dean looks _really_  interested or Sam doesn’t know how to tell the difference when his brother is flirting with a guy. A fucking attractive guy that keeps smiling and touching Dean’s arm and laughing when Dean’s not funny.

“Another,” Sam snaps at the bartender. He’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with this.

The bartender looks a little concerned, but fixes another tumbler of whiskey and sets it down in front of Sam. A young blonde girl looks like she’s about to take the seat next to him, but he fixes her with a dark look and she skirts around him with a frown.

Two more drinks down, and he’s so incensed he feels like he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin.

“So what do you do?” Daniel asks, clear blue eyes fixed on Dean.

“I’m a mechanic,” Dean replies, and if Sam doesn’t know better, he’d think that Dean is blinking a lot more than usual because he’s got these ridiculously pretty eyelashes and he knows exactly what that does to some people.

“Interesting.” Daniel reaches out and covers Dean’s hand with his, pressing it flat. “Good with your hands?”

“ _Very_  good,” Dean drawls, mouth hovering just above the rim of a glass of Southern Comfort. He runs his tongue slowly over his lips, face flushed and eyes half-lidded. Daniel follows the movement with hungry eyes, leaning in a little too close and turning Dean’s hand over to rub his thumb over the palm of it.

Sam sees red.

He can’t hear anything but the rapid  _thud thud thud_  of his heartbeat in his ears.

He doesn’t feel pain when his fist connects with Daniel’s face.

“ _Sammy_! Sam, fucking calm down!”

Sam swings again, fully intending to break every bone in that stupid attractive face, but Dean throws his arms around him and barely manages to hold his little brother back. Sam feels rabid, fighting in Dean’s hold to get to the man stumbling away from him, wanting more than anything to feel the snapping of bones beneath his fist and the slick slip of blood across his knuckles, 

Sam doesn’t really come back to himself as Dean hauls him out the door. He feels very much like he’s watching his rage from the outside, removed from everything as they stumble drunkenly for two blocks and find an alleyway to duck into.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean huffs, breathing heavy as he leans up against the brick wall.

“Wrong with  _me_?”

“Yeah, Sam, wrong with  _you._ ”

Sam rubs one large hand over his face, trying to organize his thoughts through the adrenaline and alcohol. After several long moments, he says, “That guy was all over you, Dean. And you weren’t—you weren’t too fucking keen on stopping him.”

Dean’s mouth drops open, and he makes a choked, indignant noise.

“I wasn’t… I was just flirting, man. I was gonna cut him off.”

“ _When_?” Sam seethes as he invades Dean’s space, putting his hands against the wall on either side of Dean’s head. “After he fucked you?”

Dean doesn’t say anything, looking like he knows he’s just going to dig himself in deeper. It drives Sam crazy. He wants Dean to dismiss that guy, tell him that it was just for kicks, say  _something_  to reassure Sam that there was nothing there. Sam is the only one who gets to touch Dean like that anymore, because Dean had assured him that he didn’t need anyone else, and damn it if Sam hadn’t taken him absolutely serious.

"You’re hammered right now. Let’s head back to the motel and sleep this off,” Dean says.

Sam leans in so close that he can feel Dean’s choppy breaths ghosting across his lips. Dean is looking at him like the whole possessive thing is a huge turn on, like everything is going according to plan, and Sam should have known that Dean didn’t want to waste such a prime opportunity to rile his little brother up. Interestingly, it almost looks like Dean has two sets of green eyes. Maybe he did go overboard with the hard liquor.

“You’re mine,” Sam whispers before their lips meet, teeth clashing and biting. It’s not soft, or sweet, or loving. He’s got a point to make.

Dean bites down hard enough on Sam’s tongue to draw blood, and Sam hardly feels it, only tastes the tang of copper in his mouth. He pulls back and presses his forehead against Dean’s, eyes fixed on his big brother’s bruised, swollen lips, and  _fuck_  that’s definitely Dean’s hand working into Sam’s jeans. He doesn’t even know when he got hard.

When Dean manages to free Sam’s cock, it twitches eagerly in the tight circle of Dean’s fingers. He thrusts mindlessly once, twice, three times into that firm grip, bowing his head so his face is pressed to Dean’s shoulder.

“Drunk off your ass and you can still get it up,” Dean says with a laugh. He works his hand up and down Sam’s length awkwardly, pausing to thumb through the sticky precome leaking from the slit. Sam lets out a stuttered moan and bites down on the exposed flesh of Dean’s neck, sucking fiercely until a nice purple bruise blooms, pinpricks of red dotted through it. The harder to explain away, the better, especially to gorgeous douchebags in California bars.

Though he’s only witnessed it once, he’s definitely had enough of Dean flirting with other guys.

“F-fuck— _Dean_ ,” Sam gasps brokenly, fumbling with the button and zipper of Dean’s jeans. It seems like an impossible task, given how loose and uncontrollable his limbs feel from the effects of alcohol and arousal. When he finally manages, he reaches inside to wrap one large hand around Dean’s cock, impossibly hard and heavy in his grip. They seem to agree on a rhythm, a stupidly fast and furious one, jacking each other off in plain sight in the alleyway.

The thrill of the possibility of being caught, of having an audience, is one of Dean’s biggest kinks, and Sam knows it.

“You’re being quiet,” he breathes wetly into Dean’s ear, tonguing and nipping at the lobe. “Let me hear you. Unless you want a mouthful of cock right here where anyone can watch.”

Judging from the stuttered moans and the hard tremors running through him, Dean wouldn’t object to having Sam’s cock in his mouth, or to being put on display. Sam is sorely tempted to give it to him, but he knows he won’t last long enough to enjoy it.

“ _Jesus_ , Sammy, dirty fucking mouth—” Dean throws his head back against the wall, striking against the brick with a little too much force, and groans wantonly as Sam pushes his free hand down the back of Dean’s boxers. He presses his fingers between Dean’s ass cheeks, pushing and rubbing at Dean’s hole teasingly as he jerks his cock.

Dean is barely able to keep up with his hand on Sam’s length, trembling and looking confused as to which way he should move his hips. Sam doesn’t mind—this is what he loves. He might be able to get off just on the wrecked look on Dean’s face and those obscene little moans that Dean would vehemently deny making later on.

Sam watches Dean’s face as just the tip of one finger pushes in, and he almost wishes they had something to lube up with, just so he could make Dean fucking  _wail_. He tightens his grip on Dean’s drooling cock, slicking precome up and down the shaft with every sharp tug.

“The thought of getting caught fucking your little brother gets you so wet.”

Dean thrusts his hips up violently and it takes two more rough pulls before he loses it, crying out as his length pulses strings of hot come over Sam’s long fingers. Sam holds him tight through it, milking every last drop until Dean is spent between him and the wall. It takes a good minute for Dean to come down from his orgasm, holding Sam’s aching shaft loosely in his hand. Sam wonders if the aching is thanks to Dean squeezing a little too tight when he came. He can’t say for sure—he’d been too entranced by the pretty flutter of Dean’s eyelashes, the clenching of his tight hole around the tip of Sam’s finger, and the warm mess coating his hand.

When Dean starts to move his hand up and down Sam’s cock, it’s perfect. Sam squeezes his eyes shut and leans heavily into Dean, pressing his lips to Dean’s neck to stifle his moans. A bead of sweat trickles down over his lips, sliding down his cheek and dripping into the space between them. He’s so fucking  _close_ , orgasm building tight in his balls and lower belly as Dean works his hand faster.

“Come for me, Sammy,” Dean whispers, and Sam’s hips jerk upwards as he orgasms, come spurting over Dean’s hand and on to their clothes. He shakes all the way through it, trusting Dean to hold him up if his legs give out. They stay like that for a while, Dean using his clean hand to card through Sam’s damp hair. When Sam can make a coherent thought again, he wipes his hand on the brick wall as far away as he can reach, leaving a smear of come. Dean follows his example, then goes to work tucking them both back in.

They both need to shower badly, the stink of sex and sweat and alcohol permeating the space between them. As Dean works his zipper back up, Sam surges forward and captures his mouth in a wet kiss, soft and easy and careful, unlike the previous one.

The  _woop woop_ of a police car and the shine of a spotlight snap them both out of their postcoital haze. 

“ _Shit_.” Dean takes off running towards the other end of the alleyway, sprinting for all he’s worth with Sam right behind him. They cut down another alleyway and across a busy street, taking the long way back to the hotel.

When they make it back to the motel room and slam the door shut, they make it all of five steps before they’re tearing at each other’s filthy clothes.

_He’s mine._


End file.
